


APOCALYPSE

by orphan_account



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Anyone interested in being a beta?, F/M, Fame, Homelessness, I Promise I'll Fix This Eventually, I'm writing this as i go, IDK Maybe Ziam cus' I kinda ship it but I don't think it will fit into this story, M/M, No Smut, Past Harry Styles/Louis Tomlinson, please let me know, thank you
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-02
Updated: 2016-12-05
Packaged: 2018-07-28 22:10:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 3,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7658683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The apocalypse wasn't unexpected. Just Googling the letter "a" brought up thousands of articles and stories about how the world was about to end. But in the city, you're on your own. McKenna has been homeless since she was fifteen, and foolish enough to run away from her wealthy Irish family to go to the U.S. looking for an adventure. Armed with a barely floating, garage sale kayak and tricks she learned during her time as one of the homeless population, will McKenna be able to hold out until she can find a survival group willing to take her in, or will the harsh new world kill her, emotionaly and physically?</p><p>Niall Horan was with his bandmates on a private island in the Gulf of Mexico on an awkward vacation during their hiatus. Trying to keep the peace between Harry and Louis in the aftermath of their still painful breakup and making sure that Zayn doesn't feel like an outsider has proven more stressful than any day in the recording studio. And when they receive word of the world's impending doom, the final straw is when there's only one luxury yacht on the island. The perfect recipe for disaster.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Apocalyptic News Part One

**Author's Note:**

> This is my second fanfiction. I have another current one about the history of Larry Stylinson called "Stay Til' the A.M." They do not go together in any way. I REPEAT: THEY HAVE NOTHING TO DO WITH EACH OTHER. Without further ado, I present you with the first chapter of APOCALYPSE.

"Dude, you have got to hear about this!" Brian drawled loudly as he turned up the volume of the cheap radio that he had salvaged from a dumpster several months earlier.

"-end of the world. Every man for himself-"

"So women get help? Unfair!" Dylan complained. 

"Shut up and let us listen!" McKenna snapped.

"Apocalypse... water world... earthquake tremors... tsunamies... will wash away most landforms-" the radio was turned off as it finally lost its signal.

"Bullshit," Cindy laughed.

"Hey, that was BBC!" Dylan replied.

"Fuck BBC," Cindy sneered. "Are we still on for Bruce's party?"

"Hell yeah," Dylan said.

"Dylan wants to get wasted," McKenna laughed.

"Don't tell us that you won't," Brian teased. "Stop projecting, and admit it; you're gonna get laid."

"Hey, I get free breakfast every time I do," McKenna said defensively.

"Sure, sure," Cindy said knowingly. "Get some sleep kids, we have a party tomorrow." The lamp was clicked off, and the four settled down into their sleeping bags under the bridge.

"I'm gonna get plastered!" Dylan whispered loudly, and the group giggled like a bunch of six-year-olds having their first sleepover.

"Shut up party animal," Cindy said fondly smacking him. Silence fell over the group as one by one, they all drifted off.  
••••••••••••••••••••


	2. The Awkwardness of Ex Lovers and Bandmates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Vacations of pining and miserable drunk people.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I FINALLY UPDATED I'M SO PROUD OF ME

_ On a private island in the Gulf of Mexico _

“C’mon Lou,” Niall pleaded. “Just come out and eat. It’ll taste good; Harry-”

“Don’t want anything to do with him,” Lou muttered before turning back to his rather large glass of expensive vodka. “Don’t want him. He’s a bastard. I hate him” Niall felt rather inclined to side with Harry. Looking back to the weeks preceding the breakup, Niall could remember the shouting coming from the room next door. Argument that kept him up at night, and other noises that kept him up later. And if the spats didn’t end in sex, then they ended with Harry fleeing the room in tears and crawling into Niall’s bed to cry. He almost feel Harry’s tears soaking through the T-shirt he was currently wearing. Niall had often stayed up long after Harry had fallen asleep in his bed wondering what had driven the boys’ relationship to hell so quickly. He had concluded that it had been long-coming. Four years of hiding love could do things to people. Add on the stress of actively bearding and practically being forced to cheat by a contract, and you had a mess waiting to happen. And that mess  _ had _ happened to Harry and Louis. At first, it had been teasing each other, desperately trying to avoid the elephant in the room. Then, it had been couple-like bickering. These had escalated into the full-blown screaming matches in the hotel rooms. Zayn had left the band because he’d “had enough of the drama,” though they all knew that he’d never truely wanted to be part of One Direction. Harry and Louis’s troubled relationship had been the most legit excuse that had popped up in the four years that he’d remained in the band. Niall tore his mind from the past and forced himself to focus on the situation at hand.

“Please come out and eat Lou,” he said, trying to keep his voice level and calm.

“No,” Louis moaned and slumped over for the third time since the boys had arrived, only a few days before. Niall sighed. There was no use reasoning with the lad; he was stuck in a dark world of trying to drown his problems in alcohol. Niall studied Louis. He was thin-- thinner than he’d ever been, even while he’d been bearding with Danielle or pretending to raise a baby. Niall grimaced. Louis also reeked. He probably hadn’t showered since the band and Zayn had arrived onto the island. Management had probably forced him to shower and clean himself before the flight, just for the sake of public appearances.  _ Public appearances. The same thing that turned two of the boys that could have been my brothers into empty shells. _ Shoving his thoughts aside, Niall grumbled to himself as he hoisted Louis’s thin frame over his shoulder, marveling yet again at how light he’d gotten.  _ Empty shells. _ If Harry hadn’t been filming yet another movie-- the band had extended their hiatus to include the Mick Jagger role and the trip-- he might have sunk just as low. But Harry, always the practical one, had become a workaholic instead of an alcoholic, and had thrown himself into the movie and fashion industry in an attempt to dull, if not completely numb the pain of losing the love of his life. Niall grunted as he heaved Louis onto the bed in his (Louis’s) room and drew the curtains shut. He undressed Louis and tucked him in before leaving the room. He was halfway down the stairs before he remembered that he’d forgotten to put a glass of water and painkillers on Louis’s nightstand. Sighing, Niall trooped back upstairs and filled a cup of water and placed a small bowl of Advil by Louis’s head. Before leaving the room, Niall scribbled a message onto a scrap of paper:

_ Dear Louis, _

_ You stink like dead bodies. Please shower. _

_ Lots of love, _

_ Niall _

Niall scowled and washed his hands thoroughly before heading out to the large patio. Liam stood up holding a can of cold beer out to Niall and asking, “How’s Louis?”

“In bed,” replied Niall shortly.

“In  _ bed?”  _ Zayn repeated incredulously. “He’s not drinking?” Niall coughed.

“In bed, sleeping off all the alcohol in his system.” he amended. Harry flushed and looked down guiltily.

“You carried him up all by yourself? What were you thinking Niall? What about your knee?” Liam scolded.

“You weren’t exactly offering to help now, were you?” Niall snapped crossly. “I’ve been carrying him upstairs by myself all vacation. Maybe if you were to go see him yourself, you’d understand why I haven’t really needed help.” Harry shifted in his seat uncomfortably. Niall took a deep breath.

“Look, I’m sorry.” he muttered, embarrassed by his outburst. “I just don’t like how he’s looking, or the path he’s going down.” Harry stood up.

“The food’s on the table,” he mumbled. “I’m not feeling very hungry.” He fled upstairs, but not without a small paper plate with a kebab and a slice of pita bread. Harry had done the same thing every time Louis knocked himself out. Gone up with a small plate of food and sat next to the bloke’s bed until Louis showed signs of waking up before leaving the room. Niall sighed again, wishing for the days where they had all been happy and Harry and Louis had been in love. Not that they weren’t. They were just too proud to apologize. Niall gloomily wondered if anything would ever happen to get them to confront each other.


	3. Impending Disaster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One Direction receives news of the apocalypse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is in Harry's POV. Then, it's in Louis's.

Harry looked at his former lover sadly as he sat at Louis's bedside. In the warm light of the bedside table lamp, he looked so innocent, yet years beyond his age. Harry could barely bear to look at him, but at the same time he couldn't look away. He traced Louis's cheekbone, around the hollow that came from the lack of nutrition entering his body. Harry hated that pain he was causing Louis. It had been nearly a year, but the breakup that he blamed himself for was still as fresh and painful as it had been ten months before. If only he'd been a better boyfriend- less clingy, less overprotective, more laid back. He was too intense for Louis. That's what Louis had told him.

"You're just to much too handle!" he had cried out in frustration, his face twisted in agony. It had felt like a stab to his gut. His stomach had clenched the same way it had five years previously as he was eliminated from the X Factor UK. Harry was so tired. Sitting up with Louis was exhausting in a way it hadn't been when he had nursed the older lad when he was sick the year before. He had stayed up all night, sitting next to their shared bed, making sure he was tucked in and warm as his feverish body had tossed and turned in his sleep. The next morning, Louis's hazy blue eyes had opened, and he had croaked out an apology for being a burden.  _Burden._ A word Harry had thrown at Louis in one of their screaming fits. Louis had flinched and frozen his eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears, and Harry knew he had crossed a line that night, that he had stolen a piece of Louis's self worth, which was already unstable. They had sex, but when Harry had kissed him, almost trying to push every ounce of remorse through Louis's lips, he had tasted the salt of tears and had realized that Louis was crying. Harry had put Louis through so much as he clung to what was left of their broken relationship. If he had let Louis go earlier, he would have saved him so much pain and suffering. Now, Louis was probably just as emotionally scarred as Harry was. It was like pouring a bucket of salt on a old wound, seeing Louis. As these thoughts drifted through Harry's head,  _he_ drifted off to sleep.

* * *

It was the sounds of Louis stirring that woke Harry up. He left up, knocking the chair to the ground with a crash. Louis's eyes flew open. Harry froze unsure of what to do. Louis blinked blearily and then focused on Harry. His face momentarily softened out of habit before hardening into a cold mask.

"What are  _you_ doing in  _my_ room," he hissed furiously. Harry flinched back, afraid of the venom in his voice.

"I-I-" Harry stammered, cursing his voice for shaking. What a show of ridiculous self-indulgence falling asleep by Louis' bedside had been. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he found his voice. "I'm sorry." He said, and whirled around fleeing from the room. He thought he might have heard Louis say something along the lines of "Harry come back," but he ignored it. Louis deserved better than what he could offer, or the lack thereof. Once he got to his room, he sank down onto the ground, finally letting the film of tears that had been blurring his vision fall, and began to cry softly.

* * *

"Harry, come back! Please..." Louis murmured softly after the love of his life left. The way that Harry still took care to close the door softly as if he was trying not to hurt Louis's already aching head, sent a sharp pang to his heart. He sighed, already wanting another drink to start his day.  _No._ He told himself firmly.  _You will not get drunk today._ He stumbled out of bed, ignoring the pounding he felt in his head, and downed the painkillers and water. He opened the curtains, cringing as the room was flooded in sunlight. Blinking away the spots from his eyes, Louis trudged to his en suite and showered. He was picking himself up; he didn't need a note from Niall to shower.  _Yes you do._ A voice in his head taunted.  _You also need a drink. Just to get a buzz. A bit tipsy. You need it. Admit it, you're too weak to live without relying on anything. You're a_ burden.

 _Stop._ Louis pleaded to the voice.

 _Burden, burden, burden._ The voice taunted. Louis groaned.

"Stop," he said out loud. Shoving the voice to the back of his head, he finished his shower and rummaged through his bag for a fresh change of clothes. Feeling rather refreshed, he threw his hair into a casual quiff, just to emphasize how ready he was to take on the world. Never in a million years would he admit to Niall that taking a shower was a good idea. Looking at himself in the mirror, Louis suddenly realized that he was wearing one of Harry's T-shirts. His stomach turned, and he rushed to the toilet to puck up the contents of his stomach. Nothing came up but bile. Louis was running on empty, and he suddenly recognized the hunger pains, the sharp jabbing feelings that made his stomach clench and growl like a caged beast. Harry would have made him breakfast. And given him a sweet peck on the lips. Louis lost his appetite. It wasn't like it really mattered. He hadn't really had an appetite since the breakup.

* * *

Louis sat in the living room watching the TV, only half paying attention to what the reporter was saying. Zayn plunked down next to him, and grabbed a fistful of popcorn. Louis meekly shifted the bowl next to him. Zayn give him a pitying look.

"It's nice to see you doing something somewhat productive," he commented bluntly. Zayn wasn't especially known for his tact.

"It's nice to see you've never really stopped prying into other people's personal business." Louis quipped back irritably, remembering his urge for the alcohol in the next room.

"It is my business," Zayn replied.

"No it's not," Louis said a bit too harshly. "It stopped being you business when you left the band." Zayn jerked back, unused to how cruel Louis was being. His face closed off.

"You being an alcoholic isn't my business, but I'm on vacation too, and you're keeping the rest of us from doing anything fun." He said cooly. It hit Louis like a slap to the face. He was NOT an alcoholic. Nope. Nada. Gooseggs. **(A/N I am a copycat, and that's my favorite line from _The Tale of Desperoux._ Don't judge)** Having nothing to say in reply, he turned his attention to the TV screen in time to hear the reported say, "the world as we know it will be ending within a week and a half."

"What the hell?"

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ack! Poor Larry! I promise it'll get better one day, but not without their own fair (or maybe a little more than that) share of angst!


	4. Partaaaayyyy!

They could hear the thumping beat of the music from a block away. Of course, Bruce was notorious for having giant dance-offs at random intervals during the party and turning the music to near intolerable levels, so… Either way, McKenna had big plans, and they were not going to the trash. She’d suffer through the music, or she wasn’t getting breakfast tomorrow. Parties like these were what paid for the group’s membership at the local Franco’s. They paid a hefty sum of $300 per year just to use the showers and buy shitty T-shirts and athletic clothes from the gift shop. They’d actually been there earlier that day to freshen up for the party. McKenna’s hair had dried and was naturally curling. She could only hope it wasn’t frizzing too. By now, they had reached the party, and Dylan was cracking party and drinking jokes. The music stopped, and cheers rang out the door as they stepped in, signifying the end of the dance-off. Bruce, the man himself, stumbled out to them, surprisingly only slightly tipsy as when they had been in high school, he’d always been the first one drunk.

“Ayyyyy,” he drawled loudly over the music. “It’s Scotty and ‘er squad!” McKenna forced a smile. She didn’t like Bruce all that much, but he threw big parties and had a seemingly endless supply of booze.

“I’m Irish,” McKenna corrected for what seemed like the millionth time. It was true, she was Irish, but she had run away from home looking for adventure in America at the age of sixteen. She hated her association with the place. She also hated constantly being asked if she knew Niall Horan. The answer: no, she did not. It was also an assumption that she could naturally hold her liquor. No, not really. It got annoying, constantly being nominated for drinking games, and then getting laughed at for not winning. Of course, these were members of the uneducated homeless population. She couldn’t exactly expect them all to be members of the well-to-do Irish upper class, who’d gotten tired of their cookie-cutter parents trying to force them to become cookie-cutter children and spontaneously bought a plane ticket to New York City. Instead of saying what she really wanted to, McKenna flipped her auburn (thank you very much) hair over her shoulder and smiled coyly at Bruce.

“Let’s get this party started,” she said slyly as she sidled past him to the bar for a drink, and hopefully a well-paying hook-up.

* * *

 

For the record, McKenna was  _ not _ proud of her only source of income being sex. It was stressful, and often painful to do, and she didn’t always get paid. Many nights, she had coaxed several reluctant customers into a bedroom and had immediately been kicked out as soon as they found out she wanted money or a place to stay. Or somebody was turned off by the sight of her ribs sticking out of her skin. Or she moved it too fast. Or she had to fake it all. McKenna had left home a fresh faced, innocent virgin. Somewhere along the way, she’d lost all three things. She had a face too aged and weathered for an eighteen-year-old, looking nearly five years her senior. Her innocence was long gone, just like her virginity. Looking back, she could remember coming to New York with big plans of playing violin at Carnegie Hall. McKenna found it hard to believe that she’d once thought New York would be anticipating her like fans enthused about their favorite artists. Truly idiotic. She’d come to New York with a duffel bag of clothes and a beautiful, expensive violin. And now here she was, a failed musician sidling up to the first lone man she saw and immediately beginning to flirt. The man responded well, and McKenna let herself go on autopilot. Next thing she knew, she was leaving the bedroom slipping her shoes on with nothing for her efforts. She didn’t make any money that night, and she didn’t have any breakfast the next day. The violin was sitting there, taunting her with memories of learning in a cold white room with the kindly old woman who’d inspired made it home and her to leave at the same time. McKenna hadn’t touched it for a year and a half. She hadn’t seen her teacher in longer. She wondered if the old lady was even alive.

••••••••••••••••••••


	5. Then Came The Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> #THEWORLDISENDINGWEREALLGONNADIE

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been a long time. Just kidding. School is in full swing and the story is picking up. I am officially the queen of procrastination. I still have no outline. *pats self on the back* I'm so proud of my hashtag!

Louis had miraculously pulled himself together, and Niall wanted to know how. Well, rephrase. Louis had stopped drinking during the day, and now they could do fun shit around the island. Even if Louis was often hungover, grumpy, tired, depressed, and generally ruining the mood with his sarcastic quips and thinly veiled jabs at Harry. Or being sarcastically enthusiastic. Or trying to be loud and friendly and dropping the facade as soon as he thought nobody was looking. But they were doing fun shit around the island. So. Yeah. And Zayn was quiet. Quieter than he’d ever been in the band. Niall had made it his goal to bring Zayn out of his shell. And get him and Liam together. The tension between them was killing him. Seriously. What even  _ was _ their problem?

“Let’s go to the beach!” Niall said to nobody in particular. Liam grunted approvingly. Zayn immediately agreed.

“If you guys want to, then I’m up for it,” Harry replied. All eyes went to Louis. Louis scowled.

“Lou?” Niall probed tentatively.

“Fine,” Louis gritted out through his teeth. The room burst into action as the boys rushed off to grab their swim shorts and towels. Niall was the first one down and plunked down on the couch to post a selfie to his Twitter feed. Holding his phone up, he made a face and captioned it “ _ Beach time with @Real_Liam_Payne , @zaynmalik , @HarryStyles , and @LouisTomlinson! #ladsholiday” _

Immediately the comments started rolling in, and Niall exited his profile to see what was trending. There, he saw it. #THEWORLDISENDINGWEREALLGONNADIE.  _ Okay… _ He thought. That had certainly sparked his interest. However, he was distracted by a cacophony of footsteps thundering down the stairs.   
“LET’S GO BOYS!” Louis bellowed and proceeded to run out the door wailing like an air raid siren. Zayn raised an eyebrow at Louis’s antics but said nothing. Niall shut his phone and ran off after him. Then came the call… 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes. I know it's short. I'm sorry love, but I don't really care. I'll update again soon. Like either today or tomorrow. I hope. Also, I know my cliffhangers suck. Don't mention it.


	6. It Can't Possibly Be Black Friday Already...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The #EndOfTheWorldAsWeKnowIt sales have started, and McKenna is the only one of her friends who's actually worried enough to go shopping.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY.
> 
> I have no excuse. None. Absolutely nothing. Writer's block? Nope. I had plenty of ideas. I already know how the story's going to end, down to the last lines of the entire thing. I have a character map. A fucking character map and a list of reasons that Larry Stylinson blew up in their faces. I'm just lazy and I'm really sorry.

McKenna is really fucking hungry. Really. Fucking. Hungry. Then again, she's a prostitute who hasn't made much more than fifty bucks this week, so there really isn't much she can do about it. It's quite problematic. McKenna has been in a state of half-denial since she arrived in the U.S. Going to a food bank or a homeless shelter would shatter her pride, and force her to admit that  _ yes, _ she is in fact one of New York's approximately 80,000 homeless people. No, McKenna is not about to go begging for help.

McKenna's friends don't know this, but she has about seventy dollars stashed away in her backpack. She suspects they try to squirrel away some of their own meager savings too, but it's to their advantage, as well as to everyone else's that they pool it all together. But in NYC, it's every man for himself. McKenna doesn't know if one day, one of the others will make off in the middle of the night with their own pack and the beaten wallet of money that contains almost $200 and join another group or spend it all on drugs and OD while the rest of them struggle not to starve. The homeless world is a harsh one, but sometimes, McKenna almost loves it. It's beautiful… in a twisted way. The smoke from weed addicts' joints curls like a dragon, and McKenna has become addicted to how clear, how harsh the reality of this world is. It's like scrubbing the fog off of a window. The way her cheekbones stick out of her face are like the knives she used to consider slitting her wrists with. McKenna was so rebellious. The idea of cutting had always appealed to her, the idea of holding a dirty little secret like that...  _ choosing _ to keep it from others... yes, it had always looked as shiny and wonderful as the knives in the secluded kitchen in her family's manor had. McKenna looks at the happy, well-dressed children that walk down the street and pities them. She can almost remember being one of them, thinking the world was such a bright, wonderful place. It’s not. The world is unfair. The world is harsh. The world only loves you as long as you can benefit it. As soon as you need help, the world turns its back on you. McKenna doesn’t mind. She’s lived like that her entire life, her parents constantly parading her around like a trophy. McKenna remembers craving approval from everyone, and being miserable when she couldn’t make everyone happy. She’d hated life in Ireland. Loathed it with every fibre of her being. So she’d left. And now here she is, almost overwhelmed by reality and the fact there there are fucking  _ end of the world sales _ going on, and the fact that she has a meager seventy dollars to spend on saving her life for God knows how long. What on Earth is she going to do with seventy dollars?

So apparently New York garage sales are a thing. And pretty much every house in the Bronx area is hosting one. McKenna has been up since the ass crack of dawn looking for one specific item- a boat. Or really, anything that floats. It’s around noon when she comes across a bright red kayak with just enough room for her and some supplies. When she leaves the house straining under the weight of her soon-to-be salvation, her tattered leather wallet is considerably emptier than before. Forty-seven dollars and fifty cents emptier. A used fishing rod and other gear is added to her collection. When McKenna gets home, she’s met with jeers and mocking, and she falls asleep knowing that she’ll probably be the only one out of the group to survive the apocalypse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For the record, I know almost nothing about homelessness in New York. I Googled that number of homeless in NYC and got an average amount of people sleeping in shelters every night, which is about 61,000.
> 
> I still updated though. I'm very proud.


End file.
